Hours in a Day
by EchoFallsFromGrace
Summary: Foxxay. A series of Misty Day's appointments in therapy after coming back from Hell.


_A series of Misty Day's appointments in therapy after coming back from Hell._

**Co-written with the _amazing_ Grace, she took care of the even numbered passages, and I the odds. **

_"Death...death isn't pleasant. I may be a heartless bitch but I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. When I came back, it took me weeks to be a fraction of what I'd been. Nan took a few months and Misty a year, and we all needed a lot of therapy. I think we maxed out the bank accounts, the three of us. And to be honest, I don't think any of us truly ever came back. We're still somewhat, I don't know. Hollow. Nan doesn't talk like she used to and the light's left Misty's eyes, and obviously there's something wrong with me if I'm telling you all this." - Madison Montgomery_

**APPOINTMENT ONE**

Misty Day's blue-green eyes were fixed on the woman's pen, scratching at the notepad in her lap like her life depended on it. The necromancer sat up, her knees having dug long enough into her thighs, and folded her legs beneath her in the leather armchair. She glanced over her shoulder at where the office door had closed with finality, biting her lower lip as her fingers played with the threads of her shawl.

Her eyes left the oak door to stare at the older woman before her. Her gray hair was up in a tight bun and her silver rimmed glasses were perched up on her nose as she overlooked the swamp witch with a critical eye. Misty shifted in her seat, trying to both make herself comfortable and disappear into the folds of the chair.

"Misty Day."

The wild blonde's response was immediate, the woman's mouth having barely closed. "Yes." She breathed in. "Yes."

"Does she always do this?"

Misty blinked. "Who?"

"Miss Goode. Does she stay by your side often?"

"I, I guess." Misty looked back at the door. "Yes. She does."

"I must say, it's not the first time someone's tried staying in the room with a patient, but it is the first time one's been so..." The woman searched her words. "Insistant."

"She's...we're very good friends."

"Do you think she owes you something?"

The blonde tilted her head to the side. "Owe me somethin'? What do ya mean?"

The woman raised an eyebrow and gave her a little hum before scribbling something down. "Now." She looked back up. "Tell me why you're here."

Misty laughed nervously, still puzzled at the therapist's lack of answer. "Ya don't know?"

"I do. Miss Goode extensively explained, as only she can. But I want to hear _you_ say it, Miss Day."

Misty Day narrowed her eyes at the therapist as her fingers continued twirling around the ends of her shawl, ripping out a colored thread here and there. She took a few calming breaths, but found herself running out of air anyway. "I don't think this is a good idea, ma'am." She shook her head. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can. And you will. I believe in you, Miss Day, as I'm sure you did once for yourself, as Miss Goode does, as you will again. Tell me why you're here."

Misty bristled at Cordelia's name, but finally sighed as she slumped into her chair. She rasped in a few breaths of air. "I died." The blonde said quietly. "I died and went to Hell and came back." Her eyes slammed shut as she jiggled her leg violently beneath her. "And now, now I'm here. In your office."

The therapist nodded, almost encouragingly. "When did you come back?"

"Two months ago. I think." Misty shrugged. "I don't remember."

"But you do. Miss Day, when did you come back?"

"Seven weeks. Three days. And, if it's past noon, three hours." The blonde looked away. "Is it past noon?"

The woman glanced at the clock by her arm and slowly turned it so Misty could read the time. The blonde nodded before gazing back out the window.

The necromancer's voice was soft when she spoke again, a minute later. "I don't understand why Miss Cordelia, why she had me brought here. I mean, I do. But I don't."

"She says you've been very angry, since you came back." The older woman began. "That you pick fights with the other members of the coven and that you break things out of frustration. That you cry out in your sleep and that nightmares are frequent."

"She and I sleep together, ya know?"

The therapist raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, not together. I sleep in her bed. We share a bed. I don't _sleep_ with her." Misty explained. "It was her idea, about two weeks after...she said it would help me sleep, and it has. She figured I needed someone to hold me when it got bad, to reassure me, to tell me it ain't real. But sometimes, sometimes it's very real. And sometimes it takes her a while to get me to wake up."

"Tell me about these nightmares. The ones that prevent you from sleeping."

Misty uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again, and after a slit second, set her feet back on the carpeted floor.  
"They're always the same. It's Hell."

"Your Hell?"

"Variations of, anyway." Misty closed her eyes. "It's just very repetitive."

"And?"

Her eyes still closed, Misty's fingers scratched at the stitches on her armrest. "It starts out dark. And I can hear voices. They're...distorted somehow, and hollow. They don't belong to one person, and yet I can't feel more than one being."

"You can -feel?- this being?"

"It comes with my pow-" The blonde suddenly froze, her blue-green eyes fixed on the older woman.

She laughed softly. "It's alright, Miss Day. I know what you, and Miss Goode, are. I'm one too. Don't you think I'd have been a little more surprised if I was a human and you'd came in here and told me that you'd died and come back?"

The necromancer nodded softly.

"So, you can feel this being."

"Yes. I can feel life. But, but it wasn't life I was feeling. It was somethin' else. I can't explain it. I just knew it was there." She watched the therapist take note. "And they were all laughin' at me and pointin'-"

"Pointing? You could see them?"

Misty nodded again.

"Keep going, Miss Day." The woman encouraged.

"After that, it gets lighter, less blurry. But they're still laughin', and I'm-" The wild blonde chewed on her bottom lip. "I'm killin'."

"You are committing the act of murder? Of whom?"

"Of what. Animals. Small ones." Misty shivered as she cowered into herself. "Defenseless animals. Mice and frogs and sparrows."

"Nothing bigger?"

Misty looked up sharply, rage in her blue-green eyes. "Isn't that enough?"

"Continue."

"I bring 'em back." She muttered after taking a few deep breaths. "Or I try too. And it hurts and I can't and they're all laughin'. I can't tune them out."

"The power of resurgence, Miss Day?" The therapist checked her files. "Is that what your Hell consisted of? Not being able to use your powers?"

"Yes, but, it gets worse. My friends, my only friends, are laughin' too. And I beg and I plead and they ain't listenin'." She hid behind her hands. "I can't tune them out and it gets louder and louder and they're all makin' fun of me."

"You were made fun of as a child."

"Is that a question?"

The therapist pushed her glasses up her nose.

"I was." Misty admitted. "At school. When I went to school. The kids called me freak. The teachers didn't miss me much, but I got in trouble when I didn't show up after a few days. But I didn't stay home either, it was just as bad there. Mom wasn't home and dad drank and I didn't have any siblings."

"Where did you go?"

"I wandered. Into the swamps, mostly, until I was old enough to live off on my own and then I moved there permanently, in this hunter's shack that'd been abandoned." She closed her eyes. "I love it there."

"You still go?"

"As often as I can, when Miss Cordelia can drive me."

"So this fueled your hell. This feeling of being alone, this feeling of being let down by the others around you."

"Maybe."

"Your powers mean the most to you, don't they. They gave you a higher purpose as a child. You let others call you names, because you had your little secret."

The necromancer's voice was quiet. "It kept me alive. My Hell killed me, every time it began again. At the time I didn't know I was relivin' it, but when I was saved, it all came back and I was, I am, angry." She looked up. "If I'd stayed there, I wouldn't be livin' through this pain right now."

"The pain of-?"

"Being alive."

"Who saved you?"

Misty smiled softly despite the thoughts running through her head. "Miss Cordelia did."

"And are you angry that she did so?"

"No. No I'd never be angry at her. Not her." The blonde wrung her hands together. "I'm only, well, not _angry_, when she's around. She keeps me in line, as much as she can. She cares. She's a good soul."

"You should focus on her, maybe, instead of your nightmares."

"What do ya mean?"

"Instead of focusing on your memories when you wake up from one of your terrors, think of her. You said earlier that she stays by your side when you sleep. Focus on her, nothing else, if she makes you forget. You'll feel better faster."

"Ya think?"

"Sometimes, an anchor is the best thing to have, Miss Day."

"Can ya-" The necromancer paused, flustered. "Can ya call me Misty?"

"Sometimes, then, an anchor is the best thing to have, Misty."

**APPOINTMENT TWO**

"How has your week been?" The therapist asked, her pen already hovering over her notebook.

"It's been alright," Misty answered simply. Her fingers got to work pulling loose strings from her shawl.

"Tell me about it," the therapist urged.

"Um…" Misty paused, removed her hands from her shawl, tucked her hair behind her ear, and began tangling her fingers back into the loose strings splayed out on her lap. "I don't know, nothing much happened."

"How have you been feeling?"

"Alright."

"Can you use a more specific word?" the woman asked, jotting down a few words as she watched Misty.

"Relieved?" Misty tried. "Almost happy, but not?"

"Why do you think that is?"

Misty shrugged. "I'm not in hell anymore."

"Explain."

"Well," Misty began, lifting herself from the chair and folding her legs underneath her. "I'm not killin' anything anymore. That creepy teacher ain't forcing me to do anything, nobody's laughing at me, and I don't have to scream anymore. At least not when I'm awake." Misty grinded her teeth for a few seconds before continuing. "After all that's over, the Academy is real nice."

"But you're not happy," the therapist echoed.

"No. Not all the way."

"Why not?"

"I don't…" Misty stopped herself. "Can we not talk about this?"

"Misty, I want you to talk through this," the older woman insisted, crossing her legs and readjusting her skirt. "It's the only way you'll be able to recover."

"I'm not sick," Misty grumbled to herself. "I don't have to 'recover' from anything."

The therapist stared at Misty searchingly until the witch looked up and made eye contact. "Why do you think you're unhappy? What's troubling you?"

Misty sighed. "I'm not unhappy. I have Cordelia and I have plants and animals and they're all tryin' to cheer me up."

"But what's troubling you?"

Misty's voice was barely audible. "I don't wanna go back."

"What?" The therapist leaned forward. "You'll have to speak up."

"I don't wanna go back!" Misty covered her mouth. The statement came out about twice as loud as she wanted.

The woman across from her, unphased, nodded her head and gestured for Misty to continue.

"I still dream about it and I can't stop it and neither can Cordelia," Misty blurted. "What if one day I just...don't wake up?"

"You're afraid you'll go back?"

Misty attempted to talk around the lump in her throat but failed, so she settled for a small nod.

The therapist grabbed a tissue from the box next to her and offered it to Misty.

"Listen, I've been dead three times," Misty explained. "I don't know if I can keep doin' it. I just-" Misty wiped at the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. "I don't know if I can."

**APPOINTMENT THREE**

"What do you do, when it gets really bad?"

"Do?" The necromancer narrowed her eyes at her therapist distrustingly.

"Yes, do you draw? Read? Listen to music?"

"Oh." Misty's eyes glazed over. "I met her once, ya know?" She stared off into space, but her fingers were active against the uneven frills of her jean shorts ending mid-thigh. She tugged almost angrily on the threads, even though her face was passive.

After a moment, the woman tilted her head, frowning slightly behind her glasses. "Who?"

"My idol. Stevie Nicks."

"A Fleetwood Mac fan?"

"They got me through a lot of my life, ya know? They were there for me when I lived in the swamps, alone. Miss Cordelia plays them a lot when I get down. She's learned to." She smiled and ducked her head. "She plays them when I'm happy too."

"She knows you well."

"Anyone who knows me knows I love Stevie." Misty said casually.

"So you met her? Stevie Nicks?"

"Yeah." The swamp witch bounced in her chair. "It was right before the Seven Wonders. Miss Fiona," She outright growled the name. "Miss Fiona had tried to, and kinda succeeded, had tried to-" She paused, searching her words. "Manipulate me. She thought I was the next Supreme, ya know? She tried to lull me into a false sense of security by doin' all she could to make my guard drop. I hate what she did, just because she thought I was a dumb hick from the swamps." She suddenly smiled. "But I got to meet Stevie, I think that's the only good thing Miss Fiona ever did for any of us. She brought me my idol. And now that Miss Cordelia's the Supreme, she's been able to get Stevie on the phone a few times."

"She's done that for you?"

"Plenty of times." Misty beamed. "She's the kindest lady."

"Miss Goode?"

"No. Stevie. Of course Miss Cordelia's kind, but she's more than kind, she's-" The blonde paused as her thoughts veered. "But oh my, Stevie. I get to talk to her like, once a month. And she promised to be there for the annual ball in January. It's gonna be amazin'."

"Tell me about this ball, are you ready for it?"

"It's months from now, why should I be ready for it now?"

"I meant, mentally." The therapist corrected herself. "You've lived alone most of your life, you've said so yourself. It must have been bizarre for you to move into a house full of girls? It must be bizarre now that the rooms are filling up to the brim? Won't it be bizarre for you to attend a ball?"

"I figure the stuffy gowns will be the death of me." Misty laughed lightly. "But I have my little hidin' spots if I need to escape. Which I might need to do." She looked up thoughtfully.

"And those rooms would be?"

"The greenhouse. The food closet." She smiled. "Miss Cordelia's room. I mean, our room."

"I understand."

"She's put in CD players in all the rooms."

"The food closet too?"

"Yeah. I have my favorite Stevie tracks in there. Calms me down." The blonde shifted in her seat, throwing her leg over the side of her chair. "But I have to be honest." She threw her head back with an audible sigh. "I can't listen to _Landslide_ anymore."

"Why not?"

"I was singin' it when-the second time I-in the coffin?" Misty paused, and turned into the chair to look at the upholstery, her fingers picking at cracks in the leather. "Ya know."

"I see." The therapist nodded, penning her thoughts down. "Tell me more about this ball."

"It's an annual thin'. I missed it last year, I was..." Misty threw her arm over her face. "I don't remember. If ya ask Miss Cordelia, she'd tell ya I was up in her room, sittin' in the dark."

"Were you?"

"Yes." She paused to look over her arm and up at the ceiling. "_Rhiannon_ was playin'. I remember that."

"_Rhiannon_?"

"It's a real good song."

"Stevie?"

"Yeah." She jiggled her foot up and down. "It's my favorite era, I think. It was before all the hatin' began." She hitched herself up. "Why is it that people hate each other? Why can't we all just love?"

"Spoken like a true lover of life."

Misty suddenly scowled. "I wouldn't go as far as sayin' I love life."

"You did once."

"Once." The necromancer snapped, before turning back to looking at the material on the back of her chair.

"Do you hide yourself away a lot?"

Misty sighed. "Would it be wrong in sayin' that I'm wary of people? Ever since the poachers, and Fiona. My own family. But if I know the people, then it's fine. I don't mind walkin' around the academy."

"And during social functions?"

"I don't attend those too much." The blonde admitted. "I feel out of place. I feel, less than them, in a weird way."

"Because of your roots?"

"Exactly. I'm from freakin' Lafayette, ya know? Who cares about people like me? I'm a swamp rat." Misty said softly, almost sadly. She perked up. "But Miss Cordelia doesn't care about that."

"She never would."

"No. No she wouldn't."

**APPOINTMENT FOUR**

Misty struggled to keep her eyes open as her therapist settled down in the chair across from her, legs crossed, pen in hand, hair in a tight bun.

"Misty, how are you doing?"

The witch rubbed her palms against her face and released a shaky breath. "Not good."

"Not good?" The older woman echoed.

"I haven't been able to sleep," Misty let her hands drop heavily into her lap. "I, um...the nightmares got worse. And I keep having nightmares when I'm-when I'm awake?"

The therapist scribbled a short note in her notebook and put it to the side. "Flashbacks."

"What?"

"Involuntary recurrent mem-"

"I know what they are, I just thought," Misty paused and swallowed the urge to cry. "I thought they were over."

"Did anything big happen this week?" The therapist asked. "Anything that reminded you of hell?"

Misty flinched at the word. "No."

She took a long breath through her nose. Her chest felt tight, like she couldn't get enough air in if she tried.

"Yes," Misty mumbled. "Yes, there was."

"Which was…?"

A long silence overtook the room. Misty shifted uncomfortably under her shawl, crossing her legs, uncrossing them, tapping her boots on the ground.

"A movie," she finally forced out. "I thought I would be okay, but they were in school and they started to...they started to…" Misty cut herself off and made a cutting motion with a shaky hand.

"And how did it affect you?" The therapist asked. "Only nightmares and flashbacks?"

"At first I thought it was gonna be okay so I went to Delia to try and get it out of my head but, uh…" Misty swallowed hard. "My throat started closin' up and I couldn't get the words out. And she was saying, 'Misty, Misty, are you okay?' and I couldn't say a damn thing."

Misty shifted uncomfortably.

"I sat down on her bed and all of a sudden I was crying, and then she was behind me holding me real tight and my throat hurt and somebody was screaming," Misty paused. "She said it was me, you know. She said it was me screaming."

The therapist watched the witch carefully. "So does it help to have Cordelia there to comfort you? She sounds like a very supportive friend."

"It used to."

"Not anymore?" The woman asked. "Do you have other coping mechanisms? They're very important for these times of trauma, you know."

"They ain't working," Misty said shortly. "Nothing is helping."

"Not even her?"

"No."

The therapist nodded slightly, reaching over to her notebook to jot something down.

"I can't-I can't stop seeing it everywhere," Misty stuttered out. "I keep thinking and having those flashbacks and I can't make it stop."

"Misty, I need to you take a deep breath through your-"

"I can't do that," Misty stood. "I'm sorry, I can't, I…" She trailed off, throwing her shawl at the floor and bracing herself against her chair. "I can't breathe!"

Misty lunged toward the lamp on the table nearby, aching to grab it and throw it, just to hear or feel something that would bring her back into reality, anything that would stop the feeling of hell coming for her. Laughter and screams and hot blood came rushing back to her, pounding at her eardrums and rushing over her hands, muscles screaming against the teacher's hand forcing her closer and closer to the frog. She waited for the contact, for the frog to die again, for another loop through her torment.

But instead she was awakened by a cold hand on her wrist.

"Misty," her therapist soothed. "Sit down, please. It'll be okay."

By the time her mind was eased out of the flashback, Misty was seated on the chair with a paper cup of water in her hand.

"Deep breaths in and out," the older woman reminded her. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Misty breathed in and out.

"More. You need to get your oxygen flowing."

Misty forced the air through her system manually, fingers tight around the cup in her hand.

"Good. Now, Misty, I'm going to write out a sheet of coping mechanisms that will help you, okay? I'm going to give them to Cordelia. Would you be interested in going over them with her?"

The witch nodded slowly. "Yeah."

The therapist began to scribble furiously in her notebook. "Don't worry, Misty. You'll be back in recovery in no time."

"I'm not sick," Misty grumbled.

Her therapist stared, wordless, before turning back to her notes.

**APPOINTMENT FIVE**

"How was your week, Misty?"

"Good, I figure."

"Are you feeling any better since our last appointment? Since your shutdown?"

"The nightmares subsided. They, they haven't _stopped_, but I'm sleepin' a bit more, at least. I think. I'm not sure. I'm afraid to sleep. Maybe I'm just daydreamin'." Misty paused. "Or, nightdreamin'. Delia holds me most nights and it helps but at the same time I'm so afraid of lashin' out if I sleep and I have a terror. I don't want to hurt her." She bit her lower lip and looked away.

The therapist nodded as she penned into her notepad. She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. "What did you do?"

"What?"

"With your friends."

"I, ah, was dragged into goin' shoppin'. I got a nice shawl out of it."

"Shopping," The therapist cocked her head to the side.

"Yeah."

"Tell me about them, Miss Day, your friends. Misty."

"Should I just, list 'em or-?"

"Yes, let's do that."

"Um, there's Zoe." Misty began, wringing her hands as she looked up at the ceiling. "She's the first girl I met. She-she called out to me, about two years ago. She'd, ah," The necromancer waved her hands around, looking for her words. "She'd brought someone back and it was like, a beacon, beggin' me to go and meet her. Like this shinin' beacon of life."

"What is she like?"

"She's extremely sweet. A bit shy, unsure of herself and her powers. But she's powerful." Misty nodded to herself, taking a deep breath. "I just wouldn't want to meet her on a battlefield, ya know? That's who Zoe is. She's this raw power that just hasn't tapped into herself yet. But she's gotten better at it. She teaches Latin and spells. She's real good. Better than me, 'nyway."

Misty looked up again as she thought, her foot tapping randomly on the carpeted floor. "Then there's Nan. She died too."

"I know her."

"Ya do?" The swamp witch asked. She didn't wait for an answer. "She's nice too. Miss Cordelia saved her just a few days before she saved me, apparently, it was easier savin' her first. I was a tough one, she said." She bit her lower lip. "Nan knows a lot, ya know? She hears everythin'. And I like it because she knows when to stop, she knows my limits, or at least hears them, and at the same time, she can't stop herself. And sometimes she still takes it too far and accidentally says shit she shouldn't."

"Misty."

"Sorry. She accidentally says things she shouldn't." The blonde shook her head. "But I forgive her. I kinda envy her."

"Envy her? Because she's a clairvoyant?"

"Yeah. She can tell if she can trust someone, if they really like her or not. I can't deal with liars. People who lie to ya about their feelings." Misty laughed lightly. "I guess that brings me to Madison."

"Madison Montgomery?"

"Yeah, the movie actress? Ya know her?"

The therapist smiled softly. "She's been through that door too."

"Wow." Misty coughed silently. "Um, I mean, this is gonna sound weird." She paused as her blue-green eyes bounced around the room. "I trust her."

"You do?"

"Yeah. People don't, because she backstabs a lot and shi-I mean, she backstabs a lot and stuff?" The swamp witch tried. "But she's been through so much. She's a lot like me, ya know? She got tricked by her parents at a very young age to be somethin' she wasn't, and she was killed for no good reason. And then she was brought back and people hated her for tryin' to live." She shrugged. "I feel like we just share a lot. She's very open with me. She doesn't sleep much, not since she came back the second time, because Miss Cordelia saved her too? Did ya know that? And yeah, she doesn't sleep much and I don't either, and so sometimes I find her in the kitchen and we just talk while everyone's asleep, and she's just so real. It hurts sometimes, to have conversations with her, because she's so right about everythin'."

The woman nodded. "She's a very smart young lady."

"She really is. She doesn't always make the best decisions," Misty smiled. "But she's a good friend." She looked down at the shawl between her fingers.

"If I may, she mentioned that she tried hurting you once? How do you go from a murder attempt, to being friends?"

"She was hurtin'. I forgave her a long time ago. And she didn't 'try'." Misty shrugged. "She did. I was dead and I came back."

"That's good of you, to forgive her so readily."

"She's been through too much crap. We both have. She doesn't need me hatin' her too. She doesn't admit it, but she needs love." The swamp witch added. "And I'm there to give it. In my own way, I'm very protective of her, ya know? I guess, I love her, in our own weird way we love each other. She doesn't admit it, but she waits for me downstairs on sleepless nights, with two cups of tea."

Misty sighed. "That brings me to Kyle."

"Kyle?"

"Yeah, a boy name, I know. He's our, ah, I hate usin' the word butler, he's so much more than that. He's a friend. 'Butler' just dehumanizes him. I hate it." She hummed in irritation, her leg jiggling wildly as she looked away. "He died too." She laughed bitterly. "It's crazy, it's like everyone's died in our little messed up family. But he died too, Madison's fault. She was angry and sad and she did what I would have done, I think. But she's nice, underneath all her hate, so she helped Zoe brin' him back from the dead. That beacon of light? That was him."

"I see."

"He was real broken when he came back. He couldn't talk and he shuffled around like an animal." The blonde said, fingernails ripping at the fabric of her skirt. "But Zoe got him feelin' better and I took care of his scars." She smiled proudly. "That was my work."

She paused yet again, chewing on her bottom lip. "Miss Fiona fixed him up a little bit, talkin' wise. He stutters less, he still does, but less. His thoughts are clearer. He's such a sweetheart. He loves unconditionally and doesn't care who or what ya are. He loves Nan and Madison and Zoe most of all, he's a loyal boy. He loved me before, and he loved me when I came back, and he still loves me, even though there's somethin' obviously wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you."

"Tell me that when I'm sleepin' again."

**APPOINTMENT SIX**

Misty stared up at the woman across from her, fingers tangled in her shawl, hands shaking.

"Misty?" She asked. "Did you hear me?"

Misty shook her head.

"I asked how your week was," the therapist reminded her. "Are you feeling better? Did you do anything fun?"

"No," Misty mumbled.

The older woman's pen paused over her notebook as she peered at Misty from over her glasses. "Can you explain?"

"Nothing happened," the witch replied flatly.

"Cordelia told me you didn't come out of your room."

"Why would she say that?" Misty demanded.

"She cares," the woman insisted. "She's worried about you."

Misty blinked hard against the tears threatening to form in her eyes.

"Is there any reason why you didn't want to come out?"

Misty blew a stray piece of hair out of her face, hands too occupied with tearing at the shawl in her lap. "I didn't feel like it."

"Did you use any of the coping mechanisms you and Cordelia talked about?" The therapist continued.

"I tried distracting myself," Misty replied. "I listened to some Stevie."

"Did it help?"

"Nothing helps," Misty blurted. "It's like-it's like for some reason, I just don't care anymore. I can't care. I can't feel a damn thing."

The woman winced at the obscenity. "Misty-"

"What's wrong with me?" the witch cried over her therapist. Her tears spilled over onto her cheeks as she waited for a reply, untangling her hands from her shawl and wringing at them, trying hard to breathe against her tightening chest.

"There's nothing wrong with you."

Misty's gaze dropped into her lap. "Then why am I like this?"

"Like what?"

"Empty," Misty answered. "Numb."

The therapist put down her pen and reached for a box of tissues.

"You died and came back three times," the woman explained. "There's nothing wrong with you, Misty. You need to heal."

"I don't…" Misty let herself trail off.

"You don't what?"

"I don't know if I can."

**APPOINTMENT SEVEN**

"Do you know why she was just in here?"

"Miss Cordelia?"

"Yes."

Misty shrugged, her eyes on the floor. "I have no idea. I heard you two whisperin' and she seemed upset but-" She looked up at the woman. "She's okay, right?"

"She's fine. She's worried about you, Misty."

"What? Why? She shouldn't. She shouldn't worry about me."

The therapist shook her head, smiling softly. "But she does. Lots of people do. People care, her most of all, I think." She paused to cross her legs. "She thought you shouldn't come here anymore, for appointments."

"Why?"

"She thinks this isn't working."

"But, I've been sleepin'. You're helpin' me sleep." Misty frowned. "She knows I've been sleepin'. I sleep _with_ her."

"I told her that, and she agreed. And also said you've been talking more lately."

The necromancer blushed.

"She's just worried, Misty, a little helpless at the moment, when it comes to you. I'm actually surprised, I'd have thought she'd be in here a lot earlier." The woman smiled as the young witch's blush grew. "Could you, if I asked you to, explain Miss Goode to me?"

"Yes, of course." The necromancer nodded.

"Then, explain Miss Goode to me." The therapist leaned back in her chair, her pen left on the little table next to her.

"She's, ahm, she's just wonderful." Misty began, her blue-green eyes bright. "She's the type of person to drag herself out to the swamps to give ya some lemonade, to make sure ya don't dehydrate, ya know? She just drops everythin' and shows up with a pitcher of it and sits down next to ya to watch the stars come out with ya, even though she's got work to do back at the academy." She smiled. "She's got this way of saying 'that's right, ya want sun!' when ya mention that the clouds are rollin' in."

"Hmm." The elder woman nodded.

"She's got this of callin' ya 'dork' to make ya feel better." The necromancer took a small breath. "People tend to think she's naive, the first time they meet her? That they can pull the wool over her eyes, when really, she's three steps ahead. She's so ahead that she makes ya think she's behind."

"That's quite the ability."

"I taught her how to swim, ya know? Miss Fiona never took her swimmin', she knew how to doggy paddle and keep her head above water, but that was it, she was basically drownin'." Misty bounced in her seat, looking up thoughtfully. "She drank like the whole river that afternoon. But she got it down, she swam like the gators." She grinned, then suddenly sobered. "I don't know what I'd do without her. She saved me." She began fidgeting with her shawl again.

"How did you feel when she ascended to the Supremacy?"

"Well, I wasn't there, was I?" Misty frowned, hugging her knees to her chest. "But when I came back, I just, I just knew it was her, the Supreme, ya know? She had this aura about her, it was almost frightenin' the amount of power she excluded. And everyone, it felt like everyone was a dead battery compared to her. She was like the sun, and they were like distant stars, distant black holes standin' there next to her." The necromancer said, her hands tracing patterns in the air as she tried to explain. "I was just, I don't know if this is the right word, but I was amazed. I knew she'd had it in her, I was so very glad she'd tapped into herself."

"Was she the first person you saw?"

"When I opened my eyes? If they'd been closed at all? Yes." The blonde nodded, her curls flying. "I woke up and she was hoverin' above me."

"Could you describe her emotions?"

"She was cryin', sobbin', I think, harder than me." Misty cocked her head to the side. "Well, I wasn't cryin' at first. I think I kinda just stared, to be honest, I thought it was another of Papa's tricks, a joke of his, ya know? But then she picked me up from the floor, I must have looked a right ragdoll, and she kinda just squeezed the death out of me. People usually say someone squeezes the life outta ya, but she squeezed the death right out." She smiled sadly. "She must have missed a piece or two, even though she tried so damn hard. Darn. So darn hard. I think she was happier than I was, those first few minutes." She paused.

"What's wrong?"

The young witch hesitated. "I'm, I'm not sure if I'm happy to be back. I think I am, but sometimes, Hell was easier than life. It was repetitive, I didn't have to make choices, and now I do. All the time."

"Would you go back if you could escape making choices?"

"Never."

"If you're not happy, why not?"

"Because I may not be, extremely happy inside, but my heart soars when she smiles, ya know?" Misty shook her head. "It's hard to explain, but at this point, I don't live to make myself happy. I live to see her smile. I live to make her smile."

"She's your anchor."

Misty fell back in her chair, defeated, as she looked up at the ceiling. "She's my anchor, she's my sun and my moon and I couldn't do it without her. I didn't know what I was missin' before, when I lived alone, but now she's like my drug." She laughed. "I can't get enough of it. I mentioned batteries before? It's like she's repletin' mine, or tryin' to. She tries so hard. A life pill. My life pill." She glanced back down at the elderly woman before her. "I take back what I said."

"Which was?"

Her blue-green eyes were hard. "I am happy to be back. For her."

**APPOINTMENT EIGHT**

"This week has been good," Misty began, letting a smile creep across her face. "I spent a lot of time in the greenhouse. Cordelia ordered a bunch of new plants and I got to work with 'em."

"How was that?"

"It was awesome."

The therapist nodded as she jotted a few words onto her notepad. "What else? Have you seen any movies, spent time with any of the other girls?"

"Nah," Misty answered quickly. "Cordelia and I basically spent the entire week together."

"The entire week?"

"Yeah. It felt…" Misty took a few seconds to think, leg jiggling up and down. "It felt good. I like spending time with her."

"You sound a lot better," the woman remarked.

"I feel better," the witch's smile grew. "How did you manage to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me heal."

The therapist looked up from her notepad. "I don't think it was me."

Misty's face twisted in confusion as she tried to read the older woman's face, but found nothing.

"Life at the Academy is getting better?" She continued, unaware of Misty's uncertainty.

"Y-Yeah," Misty answered hesitantly, pulling herself out of her haze. "Yeah, I think so."

The therapist motioned for her to continue.

"Well, Delia and I brought a plant back to life," Misty noted. "It's been a while since I did that."

"Your powers feel more potent?"

"No, they never went away, I just...I didn't want to bring anything back." The witch paused and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, gathering her thoughts. "Not when I didn't want to be here."

"And that's changed for you?"

"I think so," Misty shrugged. "I feel like…"

"What?"

"I kind of feel like the plant. Brought back to life," Misty mused. "And the Coven is what brought me back."

"I don't think it was the Coven," the therapist began.

Misty watched the woman's pen scratch busily against the paper as she thought. Truly, she had never felt fully at home in the Coven. It was a place of pain and anger and revenge and never ending burdens. Since the first time Misty set foot in the place, she had wanted to run as far as she could. And she would have, if it weren't for one factor.

"Cordelia," she blurted.

Her therapist nodded. "Cordelia."

**APPOINTMENT NINE**

"What's stopping you, Misty?"

The wild blonde looked up, somewhat taken aback by the question. "What?"

"What's stopping you from doing what you want to do?"

Misty laughed lightly. "What do ya mean? From doing _what_?"

The therapist sat back in her chair and raised an eyebrow. "You and I both know that you're far from stupid, Misty Day." She held up her hand to stop the swamp witch from speaking. "No, don't. What's stopping you, Misty, from doing what you want to do?"

The cajun girl fell back into her seat, dejected as she let her blue-green eyes slide to the floor. "Fear. Crippling fear. Anxiety." Her voice became a whisper. "Rejection." She suddenly sat up, her fingers tight on the armrests. "Which is stupid, because I've been livin' with rejection all my life. You'd think I'd be okay with it now. I was before, I don't understand why I'm not anymore."

"Maybe it's a singular event."

"Whatcha mean."

"Maybe it has to do with one person, not necessarily the feeling of rejection itself. This person, perhaps, means too much to you and you're too afraid to lose her. Or him."

The wild blonde smiled despite herself as she shook her head. "How d'ya do that, know exactly what I'm thinkin'?"

"It's what I do." The woman answered. "I take it that I'm right then."

"Ya are. It's a singular event." Misty sighed, curling up into herself and resting her chin in her hand. "I'm worried."

"Do you know this person well?"

Misty nodded.

"Then they know who you are already, you shouldn't be afraid of rejection. Am I wrong?"

"Like," Misty sat up and propped herself on her knees. "It's like if I had an acquaintance, and I suddenly wanted to be best friends with her. Ya know?"

"Do you not feel that you get along? That you have the same interests? If you're acquaintances and friendly, then it shouldn't be too big of stretch."

"Yeah but, she's not, she, ah-" Misty paused and ruffled her hair, leaning in to whisper. "It's not that she's an acquaintance and that I want to be her best friend."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's, ya know, more than that. She's already a friend. My best friend, I'd say. And I, I kinda like her."

"Then you know her well enough to know how she'd react. You know her well enough to know if you have a chance or not. Some will tell you that it's better to tell a person how you feel, no matter the consequences, to get it off your chest. Others will let you know that a friendship means much more than the possible idea of letting your heart speak, and that they feel better knowing that at least they have that."

"What do ya believe?"

"I believe that you need to follow your own thoughts, your own heart, and make your own decisions. What you think is what's right for you. Don't let others dictate your life, Misty."

"So what you're sayin' is...do whatever."

The therapist raised an eyebrow.

Misty wrung her hands together. "It's just that, I didn't take the chance before I, ah, died. I regret it, in a way, but I was too afraid."

"Why?"

"She was, is, sorry, too good, too perfect for me."

"That's bullshit."

Misty looked up, wide-eyed. "Ma'am."

"Anyone would be more than lucky to have you."

The wild blonde blushed to her roots.

"Never believe that you are anything less than the best you are, do you understand me, Miss Day?"

"Misty, ma'am. It's Misty."

**APPOINTMENT TEN**

"You look great this week."

Misty tore her gaze from the floor and looked up at her therapist. "What?"

"You look great," the woman repeated. "You're smiling a lot."

"I know," Misty replied, unable to keep her legs from bouncing up and down. "I feel great."

"Good week?"

"Great week."

"Anything big?" The therapist closed her notebook and placed it on her lap.

"Yeah," Misty answered. A deep red worked its way up her face.

The woman leaned back into her chair, eyes on Misty. "Tell me about it."  
Misty wrung at her hands despite the smile on her face. "I kissed her."

"Cordelia?"

The witch nodded furiously. "Yeah."

"How did that happen?"

"Well, I didn't see it coming," Misty explained. "We were sittin' in the greenhouse together, huddled over this plant we couldn't get to bloom, and I guess we got a little too close because we were both blushing like crazy." She paused to collect her thoughts. "I said somethin' dumb about her being prettier than the flowers and it-it just happened."

"And?" The therapist allowed herself a small smile. "How do you feel about it?"

"Good," Misty began, but slowly the smile dropped from her face. "Well, I don't know."

"What's wrong?" The therapist asked. "What's holding you back?"

"I feel good about it," Misty explained slowly, eyes on the floor. "But I don't know how she feels."

"You haven't talked about it?"

Misty shook her head. "I've been afraid."

"Well, Misty," the therapist leaned forward. "I've been Cordelia's therapist for quite a while now."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," the woman paused to watch Misty.

"What about it?" The witch asked.

"I shouldn't be telling you this legally, but I know Cordelia wouldn't mind."

"And?" Misty asked quickly, legs frozen in place. "What is it?"

"She feels the same way," the therapist said. "She has for a long time."

"Before I figured it out?" Misty breathed.

The older woman nodded.

Misty sat back in her chair, face breaking into a smile, hands laid uselessly in her lap. "Wow."

"And honestly, I'm not surprised," the therapist noted. "You've been helping each other for months. Before the Wonders, before her Supremacy. Since you met."

"So what now?" Misty asked. "Where do I go from here?"

"You know, Misty," the therapist paused to flip through her notes. "I think we might be done here."

"Done?" Misty repeated. "Am I fixed?"

The woman let out a small laugh. "I don't know if 'fixed' is the right word. But you are certainly doing better."

Misty nodded in agreement. "No more flashbacks, no more night terrors…"

"Right," the therapist responded. "It's time for you to move on. It's time for you to live."

Misty took a deep breath, crossing and uncrossing her legs. "Okay."

"Do you think you can do that?"

"Yeah," the witch smiled. "Yeah, I think I can."


End file.
